


If you love me, let me know

by Sagittae



Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Tropes, honestly i dont even know what im doing its been so long, i dont know what this trope is called, i just call it the "holy shit i thought you were dead but youre not" trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-04-17 00:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4644924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sagittae/pseuds/Sagittae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"And suddenly he wanted to kick himself for not paying attention to the exact moment when he had hopelessly and inevitably fallen in love with Abigail Mills."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	If you love me, let me know

**Author's Note:**

> **[A/N]:** Hey! It's been a while. I have to admit, I drifted away from this fandom for a while, but I suddenly had the urge to write about these to idiots, so... Here ya go. I guess it's like an AU of my "Red Button" fic? I prefer it as a standalone, but it can be seen as whatever. It probably has a bunch of errors, but I'm supposed to be doing some actual work, so I'll leave the super thorough proof read for later. Enjoy!

Broken pieces of side conversations flew past him as he dashed through the precinct, the tail of his coat billowing behind him during his haste. He would occasionally brush too close to an officer, causing him to apologize half-heartedly, but other than that, his stride did not falter. Only one word was rushing through his mind at that moment; everything else was irrelevant. He could care less that about the fact that Captain Reyes (or perhaps it was simply _Miss_ Reyes now) was clearing out her office, putting her belongings into small boxes dutifully. He could care less that he had managed to find research on the demon-tracking spell that both he and the Lieutenant had been trying to uncover for weeks.

 

All that was on his mind now was _Abbie, Abbie, Abbie._

 

His heart fell when Ichabod approached the woman’s desk only to find it was untouched since the last time she was here. With him.

 

 _Abbie._ The name continued to repeat in his mind, as if he would forget her name the instant his mind stopped relaying the word to him.

 

“Hey, uh--?”

 

_Abbie._

 

“Listen, if you’re looking for Mills--.”

 

_Abbie._

 

“She said something about heading to the archives.”

 

Ichabod’s head snapped towards the voice that had been speaking to him and was mildly surprised when he came face-to-face with Detective Byron -- no -- Detective Bronson. _The youngest detective in the Lieutenant’s division,_ Ichabod remembered. He walked closer to the young man, “When did she tell you this?” The question came out more desperate and panicked than he had initially hoped for, but he didn’t really mind since he was now trying to restrain himself from grabbing the detective by the shoulders and shaking the answer out of him.

 

“Uh -- Five minutes ago, I think? She just came here to get coffee… Hell, I didn’t even know we _had_ an archive room,” Ichabod supposed he should have noticed that the man was inching away from him slowly in discomfort, but his mind deemed it unimportant. He had a new destination to get to.

 

It only took a split second for Ichabod to turn on his heel (he suspects that the end of his coat hit the poor detective in the process) and speed walk as calmly as he could towards the archives, an effort that lasted for about twenty seconds.

 

_Abbie._

 

“Please, please, please,” Ichabod muttered under his breath. “Let it remain a nightmare; _please._ ”

 

Images flashed through his head as he remembered the blood trailing from Abbie’s slightly parted mouth, which was no doubt open from when she had taken her last breath due to the gaping hole in her chest. The scent of blood and the sickly sweet smell of death and decaying flesh had hit him, making everything feel _so real_. He could even feel her chilled skin as he lifted her from the ground, cradling her in his arms. Her still form contrasted his own trembling one; his fingers shook as he gently brushed the hair from Abbie’s face, her head hanging limply, no matter how many times he tried to wake her.

 

But the worst had to be her eyes -- opened -- staring blankly at nothing. Her deep brown eyes that he had grown so fond of, the ones that she always hid behind thick lashes and brightened smiles, were only dark and dull and devoid of any signs of life. They looked off into the distance, half-lidded and almost wistful.

 

And despite all the grief and terror that flooded his heart during that moment, he couldn’t help but dwell on the fact that he had never gotten the chance (or perhaps, never gathered the courage) to tell her.

 

He loved her.

 

He _loves_ her.

 

Ichabod never thought he would be able to even capture the meaning of love again -- not after Katrina. But even then, he briefly wondered if he ever even had a steady grasp of the word in the first place. Katrina had needed an escape from her unwanted marriage, Ichabod was running away from his engagement with Mary… There was nothing pushing him here. There were no limits, no boundaries.   
  


And suddenly he wanted to kick himself for not paying attention to the exact moment when he had hopelessly and inevitably fallen in love with Abigail Mills.

 

Now he just had to let her know. He _could not_ go on without letting her know.

 

_Abbie._

 

Throwing himself at the door, he burst through the entrance to the archives, panting and sweating; the whole shebang. Ichabod wasn’t sure what he expected to find, blood, a demon, or maybe even nothing if the monster had gotten to her first -- but he was not expecting to see an untouched  Abigail Mills with her person absent of blood and death, sipping coffee while lounging in one of the armchairs they both frequently expressed their adoration for. If anything, _he_ was the one causing the abnormality, as she was now holding a hand over her heart while her wide eyes stared at him.

 

“Jesus -- Crane, you scared the _shit_ out of me. Wanna give me a warning next time?”

 

Normally, he would have commented on her use of the word, _“shit”_ , because he was fairly certain that her stool did not actually exit her body during that moment. However, this was not a casual, normal moment because he was scared and frantic and dammit, _he had thought something had happened to her._ “I had a rather… disturbing dream. I am glad to find that you are unharmed.” He saw her expression soften and fade into a gentler one. She sent him a warm, reassuring smile that made Ichabod want to melt. He attempted to return the gesture, but found himself frozen.  Now that the relief from seeing her alive and well registered in his brain, he had to face a new challenge.

 

How would he tell her? What could he say? She was just staring at him with those eyes and -- _why was he so flustered_ , he’s had a wife -- and a _child_ with said wife, granted both of those relationships did not end well, but--.

 

Ichabod took a deep breath and mentally prepared himself before starting shakily, “Miss Mills… I would like to inform you of something. I’ve only recently discovered this myself--”

 

“Crane.”

 

“Or perhaps I did know and I was simply acting foolish, but that is besides the matter now--”

 

“ _Crane._ ”

 

“I have come to realize that some changes may have occurred during this past year or so--”

 

“ _Ichabod!_ ”

 

He stopped his ramblings, his mouth hanging opened at the smiling woman before him. She walked towards him and snatched the lapels of his coat, pulling their bodies together. Abbie leaned back, meeting his eyes, and said with a slow nod, “I know.”

 

Ichabod sputtered, “Y-You know?”

  
“Mhm,” she smirked. “And it’s about damn time.”


End file.
